Myra and Pooh the Philosopher

One morning, Myra awoke with her heart heavy with sadness and longing. In her dreams, she had traveled distant and beautiful lands, yet carrying her sadness in her heart. You see, Myra had such colorful and vivid dreams- she stood under the aurora dawn skies, she swam in aquamarine green and blue seas, she bungee jumped high cliffs, she met unique and interesting people in her dreams and walked with them to her wonderful adventures, but as soon as she woke up, sadness would come rushing in.

 One night, Myra walked in her dreams with Winnie the Pooh, the greatest philosopher of all times. Pooh Bear was the gentlest, wisest of all beings with a gruff but gentle bear voice and furry belly, which flopped softly as he walked.

“I know you are sad deep down, Myra”- Pooh said.

Myra drew her breath in- how did Pooh know? - “Am I that transparent, Pooh? “ she asked softly.

Pooh smiled –“ No, you are not, not to everyone. But I see it in your eyes. Sometimes even when your eyes shine with laughter, some of the grief within your heart spills through ever so slightly. What troubles you so, my dear?"

Myra felt her smile wane from her face and her eyes clouded over. She blinked ahead of her and took a deep breath. They walked on silently for a while, until Pooh gently reached out and took Myra’s hands in his warm bear paws, encouraging her to share her grief.

“I don’t know, Pooh. Angelo is gone. I miss laughing with him"- Myra spoke quietly.

Pooh replied- “ I know. You both brought much laughter in each other’s lives. It was wonderful to see you both so happy whenever you were together.”

“Then why did it end, Pooh?”-Myra asked. “I feel as if I didn’t work too hard to make our relationship work.”

Pooh turned to look at Myra-“Do you really believe that, Myra? Do you really think it could have been any other way than this?”

“Maybe…maybe if I had stayed with him longer, maybe if I talked to him more often, maybe if I hadn’t traveled so much, maybe if I loved him harder.”

As soon as Myra said the words, Myra stopped. She turned towards Pooh who was already looking at her with compassion in his eyes. “ He wasn’t the one, was he? It wouldn’t have been so hard,otherwise. ”- She said aloud.

“You are right. He wasn’t the one” –Pooh affirmed.

“I am afraid I’ll never find the one, Pooh”-Myra said quietly.

“Is that the reason you are worried, Myra? Tell me, why does one want to find ‘the one’? Is it about love? Is it about sex? Is it about companionship? Is it about security? Or is it about fulfilling norms of society which include marriage, partnership and parenthood?” Pooh asked.

“I am not sure”-Myra replied. “Maybe, it’s because nobody wants to be lonely. Sometimes, it feels as if people make compromises just so they have the security of someone always being by their side as they go through life. Maybe they are scared. Or maybe, I’m too cynical. Perhaps they do really find the person who they can’t live without for the rest of their lives.”

“And you?”-Pooh nudged. “Why do you think you need ‘the one’ –as you say?”

Myra took a deep breath and confessed- “I am scared, Pooh. I am unsure about the purpose of my life. Why do we exist? Is it only to mindlessly go through this life cycle and die eventually? What would be my contribution to life, as we know it. Is it to be a good daughter, a good sister, a good friend, a good employee, a good wife and eventually a good mother? Is it so that life can continue even after I die?  And if yes, then if I don’t meet ‘the one’ and don’t marry and don’t have children – would I really fail miserably in fulfilling my life’s purpose? Am I only an instrument of life’s aimless continuation on Earth? ”.

“Well...” Pooh began- “ you have asked me the most difficult question of all, Myra. As a philosopher, I too struggle to understand my purpose in life. Am I in this world only to gather honey from the forest during summer, and hibernate during winters, while creating little bears with another female of my species so that they go through the same mindless cycle over and over again? "

Myra looked at Pooh silently, waiting for him to continue.

“I think not, Myra. You know why?” Pooh said-“ Let me ask you a question. How many bears do you know who talk to humans and give them perspectives in philosophy?”

Myra shook her head- “Only you, Winnie the Pooh” – and smiled at her own world play.

“Exactly!” Pooh exclaimed- laughing together with Myra. “You see, Myra, as people go through their individual life cycles, each repeated through generations, each one brings with her or him a peculiar individual trait that has the capability of changing the perception of life as we know it. Some individuals bring big changes in perspectives like Nelson Mandela, Abe Lincoln, Margaret Thatcher, Maya Angelou etc and some small but equally important changes.  As for me, if I have cubs -I most likely will pass on my philosophical knowledge to my cubs and they will be more evolved philosophers than me.

And if I don’t have cubs, and chances are high this happens for you know, it’s SO hard to find a mama bear who will not snooze at my philosophy talk, and who doesn’t mind my floppy belly, well then I think I will have brought about an immense change in the way people perceive bears. Until now, people have mostly thought of bearkind as honey guzzlers who spend half a year snoring in caves! Maybe after me, they will also recognize us as intelligent philosophers!”

“Why, you do make an awful lot of sense, Pooh!” Myra remarked. “Maybe MY  purpose in life is to show everyone that as a woman, there is more to life than finding a partner and having babies!”

“Easy there, Kiddo! You are not alone, you know, there are plenty of women out there who are doing the same thing and asserting their individuality. Maybe your generation will have proved that a woman is much more than a carrier of life, she is life herself!” –Pooh laughed.

Myra laughed then, free flowing laughter that filled her being and made her feel much lighter than she had felt in a long time. She was life herself, indeed.

This time laughter stayed with her even after she  woke up from the dream.

Portraits

I love portraits. I believe, a good portrait is one which captures a person's soul in a frame.  Taking a portrait is not only about the right light, the right composition and the right camera setting , it's also about being connected to your subject where you can really see them for who they are at that moment and are able to capture their essence. To be able to do that, indeed , is magical.

"Keep your heart open to dreams. For as long?as there's a dream, there is hope, and as long?as there is hope, there is joy in living." Anonymous 

“The word "miss" is so wistful. As is the word "wistful," for that matter. They both have sighs embedded in them, that "iss" sound. Which also sounds like if.” - Joan Wickersham

“If you wish to glimpse inside a human soul and get to know a man, don't bother analyzing his ways of being silent, of talking, of weeping, of seeing how much he is moved by noble ideas; you will get better results if you just watch him laugh. If he laughs well, he's a good man.” -― Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The fish and the fisherman

The fisherman doesn't choose the fish , the fish chooses the fisherman. All her  life she rides the ocean's current, weightless, buoyant and playful. She circles the fisherman nimbly as he stand waist deep into the roaring ocean and swings his net with sinewy arms. His feet planted firmly on the sifting sand - his brow and arms and legs stinging ever so slightly with grain and salt. Patient , persuasive, powerful. 

She carefully observes the fisherman cast his net, feels the swoosh of the net as it hits the turbulent water , and watches it as its pulled back out into his calloused hands. When the time is right, she surrenders herself and lets herself be carried away by the swoosh and gasps as she feels the wonderful emptiness of air in her lungs. She hazily feels the calloused but warm hands on her as she fades away- but she dies  knowing what wind feels like. 

She chooses to know.

Bhikshu

Location:McLeodganj, Himachal Pradesh.

Sketches of a certain Miss J

A certain someone I know has been asking me to write short stories. And so based on popular demand (Oooh, That sentence made me feel so accomplished) - I hereby start a series of short character sketches of some of the most interesting people I have met in my life. Who knows- even you may be featured in one of these sometime :)

J Mausi-known to others as Miss J

J Mausi (Aunt)- known to others as Miss J- is a tiny, frail and slender woman, with huge, ever curious eyes peering from big horned rimmed glasses. She wears dresses with pretty floral patterns and comfortable flat sandals and all her clothes are tailor made with the design carefully chosen from the old leafy catalogs of a popular UK based magazine'Woman's Weekly' . The tailor who makes these dresses for Miss J has been doing that since about 35 years and sits in a corner shop in the main road of my small hometown. He is a rickety old man with thick glasses and knows that Miss J likes her dresses to be a modest below the knee length and comfortable during summers.

Apart from being my mom's colleague and friend, J Mausi was also my first kindergarten class teacher. She is the one who taught me my first alphabets and held my tiny hands and showed me the tricks of cursive writing. She also often smacked me on my head for the silly little mistakes I made. Miss J had a long wooden ruler in her classroom cupboard with which she would discipline the naughtiest miscreants in her class. She was also later treat the aforementioned miscreant with candy to make up for the disciplining. She once told me, that she would rather have loved to teach little unruly boys. 'Little boys are much more fun than peeved little girls who wailed at the sight of the wooden ruler'

Miss J never married in life and many rumors were whispered in the ears of girls during tiffin hours about her life. Some girls told me she used to be a nun and then she got bored of the nunnery and became a teacher. Some told me she suffered from blood cancer and went to Bombay every month to have all her blood drained out and then be replenished with fresh new blood. I always scoffed at these silly little stories. J Mausi, known to others as Miss J, was my mausi and I knew she went to Bombay to meet her brother and his nephews. I knew because before every trip to Goa (via Bombay) my mother and she would go out shopping to buy clothes and gifts for each of her nephews. With my hands in my waist, I would promptly tell off these rumor mongers. But I would go back home and ask my mother in hushed awe - "Is it true Mausi was a nun?" My mother would almost always silence me with a -"Never mind!'

J Mausi passed on to me her precious gift of love for books. She would borrow books of Enid Blyton such as 'Noddy' (Oh how I loved Noddy) and 'Malory Towers' as well as 'Hardy Boys' , 'Famous Five' and 'Nancy Drew' from the library in her name and bring them in a bundle on Sunday mornings after her church service , much to my utter squeals of delight. When I grew up to be a teenager, I would go to her room right next to the school dormitory and hunt for more books to read in her box full of books.She was the one who introduced me to the passionate world of old issues of Mills and Boon and Georgette Heyer and also, a tiny book of raunchy jokes.That tiny book found a second home below my mattress and would be taken out in the dark of the night to be read under the covers in torchlight, the same book which was later found and seized by my mother.

J Mausi's room was fascinating. It was tiny (everything about J Mausi was tiny, except her wooden ruler) with a single bed with a hanging mosquito net in the center, a cupboard , her box filled with books and a study table near the window. Next to the tiny book of 'Hail Mary' on her table, she had half a bottle of McDowell's whiskey. Scandalized, I would ask her if it was indeed whiskey- and she would laugh out aloud and tell me it was just water. I never really believed her. Now that I know - probably she was right, whiskey's are never transparent...are they?

How I loved J Mausi, known to others as Miss J!! As an adolescent extremely conscious of my changing body, I would find underwear shopping trips with my mom excruciating painful. One day she went along with us during one such trip and gasped in utmost horror when she saw what my ever practical mother would buy for me while I tried my best to find specks of dust in my shoe. 'Pristine white cotton with no elastic??!!' She exclaimed horrified- and loudly...and I was sure even the watchman at the store entrance could hear her- she proceeded to state in no uncertain terms exactly what she thought of my mom's choice- "Your mother is useless- I'll buy you the real deal ' and then oblivious to my discomfort, dragged me towards the more adventurous sections.

Years later, when I left for the US- J Mausi hugged me tight and told me that I was the child she never had. She also promptly told me to get a boyfriend. We both giggled. Then, immediately-:"Sush...what would your mother think!!

Utah

It's been a while since I posted. Life has kept me busy.This morning, errr.. afternoon rather (C'mon, its a Sunday afterall) I woke up thinking about Utah. Whenever I tell people I studied at the Utah State University in a small mid-western town called Logan in a predominantly conservative LDS community, I almost always get a raised eyebrow as a response. It makes me a little defensive of the place I lived for two years of my life and formed important relationships which stayed with me even after I moved back to India.

For one, when people think Utah - they think barren desert ,with miles and miles of flat land of cactus and shrubs with rattlesnakes and an occasional farmhouse breaking the monotony and a lone cowboy on his horse with a tilted mud crusted hat squinting his eyes at you and nodding his 'howdy' (Insert appropriate western cowboy music here).


I tell them- Think rolling hills and mountains, rivers, hidden creeks, open wide spaces , blue skies and white fluffy clouds. Like this.




They tell me Utah is lame because people in Utah don't go to wild parties over the weekend and get drunk and puke on the floor (and on themselves) and pass out - what's the fun without that?

I tell them- True, there are very very few bars where you can go drink yourself silly and puke on the floor (Or yourself ) - most people who like that kind of shit, do it in house parties. I've been to those a few times and I realized I don't enjoy puking. So instead, I would spend weekends like this .

Camping out with friends



Floating on the Tony Grove lake on a sunny Sunday



Camping at Yellowstone National Park, awed by the wonders of nature.




Learning how to appreciate good art with wonderful artists



Learning to play the Djembe by the fire on a clear summer night, having my first s'mores and watching shooting stars in the sky




Hiking up to the North window in Arches National park at night and lying on the rocks until midnight listening to silence and feeling tiny underneath the sky so full of shiny blinking stars.





They tell me , I missed out on the fun - These people from New York, Chicago, LA and California.

I tell them- I don't think so.

Pulikali at Suraj Kund Mela

Artists performing the Pulikali ( meaning : play of tigers) dance at Suraj Kund Mela 2011 in Faridabad, Haryana. The Pulikali is a dance form which originated in Kerala over 200 years ago and is said to reflect the wild and macho spirit of the beast. The dancers use steps and body language peculiar to the tiger being stalked by a hunter to the beats of the drums.

Itchy

So I’ve been itching to travel quite a lot lately. Last month, I did the long- weekend trip to Jaipur, Rajasthan with a female colleague of mine and you would think that I wouldn’t be so restless after only 3 weeks after the trip – but here I find myself dreaming of backpacking my way to unknown destinations again.

This time, I am thinking of venturing out solo. Of course, I will have to tell my family about it before I leave and they will initially not be very welcoming to the idea – it was hard enough convincing them to let me have an independent apartment in a scary city like Delhi. I don’t worry about the convincing part too much because as long as I am able to effectively explain to them my reasons of wanting to travel solo and am able to convince them that I am confident and prepared enough to be able to take this venture on my own- they will be fine (albeit with nervous and trepidation). BUT they will be fine.

So I researched online for previous experiences of women who have backpacked in India before and read about their experiences and advice. I found tons of women travellers(yay !) who travel solo all over the world and especially through India which to-be-honest does NOT give much credibility and sense of security to a single woman unaccompanied by a male in most situations (more on this issue in another post). One such website where I found well archived and extensive information is the Journeywoman . However, most of the travelogues in the website are for the international woman traveler and focuses on the issues of the culture nuances of India, the clothes to wear, the appropriate ways to interact with the locals etc.

But what about an Indian woman backpacker, I then asked Google. And here is what Google told me- There are a few Indian women who take the road less travelled (pun intended) and do the unimaginable- Travel alone. I found a nice article on the stories of a few Indian women who have done it here. The report encouraged me – and I scrolled through the comments section and guess what? It was also nice to see some men cheer the ladies on and there were also a few chauvinist dickheads also contributed their stupidity to the general ignorance of ‘superior’ men folk . I also found out about Woman on Wanderlust (WOW) founded by Sumitra Senapaty which organizes travel trips exclusively for women. They have some really nice national and international trips coming up in 2011 and the trips to Bhutan and Ladakh instantly made my eyes shine with excitement. Yet, these trips are comparatively a tad bit pricey as most women who travel with WOW look for comparative comfort when traveling. What I am looking for mainly a backpacking experience in a
shoe-string budget . Wish me luck!!




"I read somewhere... how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong... but to feel strong." -Christopher McCandless

Travails of working for development

One of the things that bugs me about the attitude of development workers from other 'developed' countries is their constant bitching about India for numerous reasons starting from the dust, the incessant noise, the overwhelming pollution, the annoying beggars , the malnourished street dogs, unclean water , Delhi belly, people peeing on the roadside, corruption, eave-teasing, cows on the streets, traffic ....(and so goes the list). Now, if it were say, a business man on a trip to India who has had no experience of poverty and the problems it entails, and no compassion towards it and lands in India unaware and unprepared - then maybe I would understand his discomfort and hell, I would even offer him sympathy at his lack of adaptability to a condition called poverty that afflicts 1.1 billion people in the world , forcing them to live in less than 1$ per day.

But I cannot understand and refuse to humor people who 'work' in the development sector with the intention of alleviating that poverty and speak ill of the country that they decide to work in. I agree that living in India is not easy- it's hard for me as well even though I have been born and brought up in this country and know its ways.

Yet, there is a difference between acknowledging these problems at face value and just being outright condescending about it. You are not being true to your profession otherwise.

Jaipur, Rajasthan

Folk Musicians
@International Kite Festival
Jaipur, Rajathan.

There may be a great fire in our soul, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke. ~Vincent van Gogh

Location: Dilli Haat, New Delhi.

Love

I love the laughter lines in the man. Don't you think his smile could be infectious?

Location: Ogden, Utah

Woke up early today and spent the morning sitting in a coffee shop taking candid pictures of people on the sidewalks. It's a joy capturing emotions and moments.








Then took a stroll down the Mirror Lake to be a part of an idyllic sunday morning in the park and a beautiful small wedding by the lakeside.

Funny, to have posted my previous post and then be here traveling towards the pacific ocean.Reason told me to save money and stay at home and apply for more jobs. Heart tells me to go back to India for a year and utilize my remaining time in the United States to see more of this beautiful country.

I am following my heart. And loving it.

Drove from Providence ,Utah to Bend ,Oregon for about twelve hours yesterday. The landscape throughout the drive was pretty much high desert , open spaces and distant mountains.

Sue and I are staying at the Sundance Ranch at the bunkhouse. The entire bunkhouse was deserted last night and will be so for two more days as there was a terrible flu around which made about 25 people very sick. We are two very brave (or like Sue says, Stupid) women who are too stubborn to change our plans.Plus I have immense faith in my immune system.

Here is a view of yesterday's beautiful sunset at the ranch.



Isn't this just the prettiest sunset?

We were told that there was a wildfire around the west of Bend.It was slightly smokey amd the air smelt like campfire mixed with pines. When it was dark, the moon was so yellow that it was almost red. I battled the fear of rattlesnakes in the dark and went outside to shoot the moon.




This morning , we woke up early at 8 am and walked around downtown and visited art galleries.Here are some pictures of Bend.Until tomorrow.

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. —Mark Twain

In my room, the plastic trash bag is caught amidst the whirl of the fan and makes crackling sounds.I lie here in my bed..clothes strewn all over me ,unpacked suitcases on the floor, trying to wrap my head around everything life has been in the past few months. Wondering at how I feel so stable and volatile at the same time.

Isn't it amazing how many twists and turns life takes? You might be wearing your most comfortable hat,walking down a known lane with a spring in your step...so sure of your next turn right around the corner to your left and suddenly- whooooooosh! Just as you blink,the familiar lanes disappear and you are presented with a wildly dense amazonian forest of experiences called 'Life'. You feel so unequipped and disoriented- Will the forest be safe? Will you reach the other end? Will there be demons and wild beasts? Which direction will it take you? Will you even reach safely on the other side?


I am scared.And also excited.It frightens as well as exhilarates me.

Sometimes, the Unknown is a good thing.I think.

I feel poetic

When a bit of sunshine hits ye,

After passing of a cloud,

When a fit of laughter gits ye

And ye'r spine is feeling' proud,

Don't forget to up and fling it

At a soul that's feeling blue,

For the minit that ye sling it

It's a boomerang to you.

"The Boomerang" by Capt. Jack Crawford.

I dreamt last night

I am someplace magical, I'm sure, because the moon is yellow and looms large into the horizon which seemed much closer than it usually does during the day's awakenings.I am walking across a cobbled path, lined with leafless trees,leading me to the moon. I have a digital camera in my hands (which I've wanted for so long).It's a Nikon D70S.I know for sure because I am holding it in my hands ever so lovingly.

I stop because I want to shoot the moon and I am able to take one shot , and the camera clicks and whirls. I am happy. I want to take more shots but suddenly the moon becomes smaller and shoots up the sky almost like a shooting star only aiming towards the velvet sky.

Suddenly,it's day and I run across a group of scrawny children playing in sand.I start taking pictures of two girls holding hands and swirling round and round in circles. Through my viewfinder,I find a pair of dark intense eyes staring at me. She is not smiling. I want to take pictures because her face has such intensity. Yet, she stares and won't let me. Someone whispers into my ears and tells me that I cannot expect her to let me take pictures of her specially when I've just arrived.

I nod.

And open my eyes.

[Image taken on 1st January, 2010 at 1 am during the partial lunar eclipse as seen in Ranchi, India)

Sometimes Logan is just the prettiest place in the whole world. It's been raining since last night and a most beautiful sparrow sat on my window sill a few minutes ago to shake off the rain.

I wish I has batteries in my camera to take a picture but it flew off before I could get around to it. Such is life.

Oh, did I tell you by the way, I finally moved out of my old place for the summer. Moving is exciting and unsettling at the same time. I've moved four times already in the past 2 years so I've been feeling pretty much nomadic and I know I will be moving again in the next 3 months. Hence, I have not been particularly ecstatic about it.

However, I've already started to warm up to my new place. Here's a view from my window:


There is a small stream running hidden among those trees , so if I just cross the street, and scamper a bit , I reach the pebbly stream. I plan to make full use of the the stream during warm summer afternoons with a blanket, a flask of iced tea, a bag of cucumber and tomato sandwiches and a nice book. Bliss.

If I climb over the the hill past the stream ,I am welcomed with this view:


Plus, I also found a nice little cozy grocery store a block away from my house which sells everything you might need. In a place of gigantic and impersonal retails such as walmart, K-mart and other such marts, it was indeed very refreshing to enter a small wooden store with windchimes and a friendly cashier who told me the store has existed since the 1940s.

Life is, indeed, good.

My sunflower makes pretty patterns with the fluffs of cotton against the sky.




I want to float on the edge of these feather like clouds

across oceans and forests and fields of green grass

I would wave to yellow sunflowers waiting on windowsills

and fly kisses to the world below in hushed ,playful little whiffs of wind.

I would hope someone catches them in the wisps of their hair ,

or in the twirl of a new born leaf as it winks at the sun.

[Post script : Just realized the cloud actually looks like it's flipping me off. Hmmmph!]